


Say That You Love Me

by PastelWonder



Series: Return To Me [4]
Category: Blitz (2011), Spy (2015)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Brant is enjoying the dog days of summer. But can Susan make it a little sweeter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say That You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dulce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulce/gifts).



> Set during Return To Me, after Susan decides to stay with Tom.

Tom stepped out of the station and fished his smokes out of his shirt pocket.

 

It was a sweltering thirty-two in the shade. Hot air wafted up off the asphalt in shimmering waves, so thick with the stench of cooking and rotting rubbage he could practically chew it.

 

He inhaled deeply, snorted, and spat.

 

Summer was Tom’s favorite time of year.

 

For one, the Chief went on holiday for two weeks to the shore. Two blessed weeks of what Tom liked to think of as true policing. No procedures to follow or rights to read - just pure unadulterated brutality.

 

For another, the heat made South London criminals go apeshit, or so he wagered after his first summer on the force. They swarmed the streets in droves, fighting and pimping and looting like it was the end of the world. It was utter mayhem.

 

Tom sucked his teeth. _Glorious._

 

Most recently - and perhaps best of all - was Susan. Susan fucking Cooper, tits out in whatever thin-strapped top she’d be wearing when he got back, nothing on underneath but her knickers. Thick white thighs hiked up on his shoulders, slick with sweat and juice as he ate her little cunny out while she purred like a pussy for him. If he thought he was a slick bastard for landing her in the spring, he’d won the fucking lotto now that it was so hot she’d lost what was left of her mind and most of her clothes.

 

Dogs days of summer, too right. Bare-knuckled brawls at two in the afternoon, no chance of getting a bollocking for at least another week, and up to his balls every night in the prettiest piece he’d had since God-only-knows.

 

He clenched a Weight between his teeth as he lit up, picturing her bent over the sofa and keening while he rogered her into next Sunday.

 

_S’the life, mate._

 

He took a deep drag.

 

“Tom?”

 

_Susan?_

 

He glanced around, squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the building windows. He spotted her across the street, near the tube entrance. Pretty as a picture, wearing a long yellow dress and sandals. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her hair, and she was waving at him.

 

Heat unfurled in his chest.

 

_Susan._

 

He trotted across the street, blowing a long stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth as he hopped the curb and sidled up to her.

 

“Hey,” she greeted him, thumb of one hand looped around the handle of her purse over her shoulder. She squinted up at him, shading her eyes with the other. “How’s it hangin’?”

 

He flicked his cigarette into the street and reached for her. He dragged her against him, smirking down at her soft, “Oh!” of surprise. “What you doin’ down ‘ere, sweet’eart? Didn’t figure you for the ‘eat.”

 

Maybe she’d missed him.

 

“I missed you,” she said softly, looking up at him from under her fringe with a shy smile.

 

He felt his heart kick up a notch.

 

She plucked at one of the buttons on his dark overshirt and cocked her head. “Did you miss me, bad boy?”

 

 _Bad boy_. He liked that.

 

“Might ‘ave,” he rumbled, dipping his head to kiss her. He pressed his forearm into her low back, getting a nice bend going as he cupped the back of her head with his other hand and shoved his tongue down her throat. She moaned, twining her fingers in his shirt and tugging as she sucked him.

 

_Fuckin’ minx she is._

 

Her eyes were hooded and unfocused as their lips parted with a loud, wet smooch. Her mouth was swollen, light pink lippie smeared past the line of her lips, and her cheeks were a deep pink.

 

He pictured her on her knees, sunglasses still in her hair as she sucked his cock.

 

He smacked his lips and grimaced. Wiping them with the back of his hand, he asked, “What’s this shit?”

 

“MAC’s Turkish Delight,” she humphed. _Plebeian._

 

God, he loved a girl who talked down to him. “Is it? Tastes like come.”

 

She snorted. “You would know.”

 

So he liked a felch every now and again. Sue him. “Come ‘ere tah take the mickey outta me?”

 

“Noo.” She huffed again, tracing her fingertip delicately around her mouth to clean up the smudge. His eyes followed with interest. “I came here because I missed you.”

 

“So yah said.” He reached down to hike up the hem of her dress. “Tell yah what: turn round and bend over and we’ll get real cozy, darlin’.”

 

“Ugh! Sick.” She wrenched herself out of his grip.

 

He smirked. “What a li’le cocktease you are, comin’ ‘ere in that dress-”

 

“Hey!” She stuck her finger in his face, baring her teeth a little as she growled, “Enough, Tom. Take it down a notch. I mean it.”

 

“Touch-chy, madam.” He held up his hands, _I surrender_. He gave her an up-and-down look and an amicable sneer.

 

He liked that too, when she rocked up and put him in his place.

 

She smoothed her skirt, pointedly ignoring his leer. Slowly, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing, she said, “I’d like to go to dinner. Can we please go out tonight?”

 

His face scrunched in irritation. _Go out?_ He wanted go _in_ , and stay there. “Yah didn’t cook?”

 

“No, I did not cook!” she snapped, hands on her hips. “It’s a bajillion degrees, and I want to go out.”

 

 _Why are you being so difficult?_ her tone said.

 

“Alright, alright - Christ al-fuckin’-migh’y. Yah wanna go out? Fine, we’ll go out.”

 

His shoulders tensed; he expected her to sulk, maybe, still dissatisfied, or to flounce away in a huff.

 

He was used to that, women you couldn’t please. Well, in most aspects of life anyway.

 

What he was not expecting was for her to expression to morph into a thousand-watt smile, dimples on overdrive, as she raised up onto her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly.

 

“Thank you, Tom,” she said, and she meant it.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

It cooled off a bit after dinner, and she fancied a walk, so he took her to Dulwich Park. He bought them each a Cornetto, having received nothing but a skeptical look when he suggested they split one. They ate their cones in comfortable silence, lolling in the shade on a bench.

 

Tom slurped his down in no time, reclining with a satisfied grunt, one leg straight out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. He draped his arm across the back of the bench, absently stroking his fingers through Susan’s long, dark hair as he watched her with lazy interest.

 

She was tucked up against his side, her head on his shoulder, lapping delicately at her cone. Turning it clockwise with each lick to catch the drips before they rolled down her paper wrapper. From this angle, he could see the ends of her long lashes and of her nose, her pink little tongue as it darted across her cone, and past it, down her neckline, between her breasts, all the way to the soft rise of her belly.

 

_Lick. Turn. Tits. Lick. Turn. Tits. Lick…_

 

He shifted, hard-on pressing painfully into the crotch of his jeans. “You doin’ that on purpose, or what?”

 

“Hm?” She glanced up at him, eyes unfocused for a moment. She had a bit of ice cream on her lip.

 

_Lost in her own li’le world._

 

He tugged her hair lightly. “Wotcher?”

 

She blinked, seeming to zero in on him finally. “Nothing. Just… thinking.” She caught a drip as it raced down the paper for her fingers, twirling her cone as she dragged her tongue across it. Satisfied for the moment, she said, “There’s a park like this one in DC. I used to-”

 

Nothing.

 

She was prone to that, starting something then stopping. He kept quiet, waiting to see if she’d pick up again where she left off.

 

She didn’t.

 

He stroked his knuckles down her arm. “Tired?”

 

“Mm.” She nodded, mid-lick, then hid her mouth behind her hand as she added, “And hot.”

 

“Let’s go ‘ome, then.”

 

She offered him her cone. “Finish this for me? I don’t like sugar cones.

 

He dipped his head; she held it steady as he took a bite, wrapper-and-all. He spat the paper out as he chewed.

 

She wrinkled her nose. “You are such a mess.”

 

It was fond enough when she said it, though.

 

He took the rest from her as she stood, shaking out her skirt and retucking her sunglasses into her hair.

 

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, watching him stand and wipe his hands on his jeans.

 

He slipped his hands into his pockets, kicking a little dirt over the rest of the cone wrapper with the side of his boot. “Sure.”

 

She tucked her hand in at his elbow - something he was still getting used to - eyes deeper and greener in the shade of the trees as she looked up at him. “Do you think people can change?”

 

He hesitated, suspicious.

 

_What’s she askin’ that for?_

 

“No.” The corners of his lips quirked down as he shook his head. “I don’t.”

 

“How come?”

 

He shrugged, tamping a bit of gravel down with his steel-toe as they set out. “World’s not like that.”

 

He could feel her eyes on him as she asked, “What’s it like?”

 

He squinted out across the park, watching children run and shriek in the play yard. “I knew a bloke a while back - a mate from police college - good copper. Good mate, too. Was decades ago; I’d been on the force maybe a year or two. Anyway, there was a call in Kingswood. Domestic violence, they’d said. So, Declan - ‘is name was - goes to see what’s what. When ‘e gets there, ‘e knocks on the door and wouldn’tcha know it? S’a couple a’thugs who answer it.”

 

She slowed down beside him. “Oh no-”

 

“Right. Couple a’bangers who’d called in a fake to knick a copper. They beat ‘im to death with their bare ‘ands. Part of a gang initiation. Took ‘em less than ten minutes. Can you imagine, beatin’ a man to death in less than the time it takes to put a kettle on?”

 

He glanced down at her, remembering for a second who she was when they met. “Course you can.”

 

She nodded, eyes soft and sad as they traced his profile. “Oh, Tom. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Like I said, it was ages ago. ‘ardly think of it now.”

 

That was a lie. He didn’t look to see if she bought it.

 

“But that-” He shook his finger. “ _That’s_ what the world is like. You think it’s somethin’ bad, and it’s always somethin’ worse. And nothin’ ever changes.”

 

They ambled along in silence for a while as she chewed that over. He worked his smokes out of his pocket, mouthing a cigarette out and lighting it one-handed.

 

Finally, she asked, “Do you think you’re a good person, Tom?”

 

That got a smokey chuckle out of him.

 

“Me? Nah.” He glanced over his raw knuckles before he took another drag from his cigarette. Tapping his chest, over his heart, he told her with a smirk, “I’m as black as I’m painted.”

 

“You’re good to me,” she countered quietly.

 

He snorted, glancing down at her with a one-sided smile that was all sharp teeth. “Coz I want somethin’, don’t I?”

 

“Tah-ahm,” she sighed.

 

“What? You think I’m runnin’ a ‘alf-way ‘ouse for run-away spies? ‘ome for unstable American women?” he teased, nudging her gently. “S’innit a charity, sweet’eart.”

 

She gave him a sidelong look, _Give me a break_. “Pfft. You could find an easier lay, if that’s all you wanted.”

 

He nodded. “Maybe. But not a pret’ier one.”

 

He caught the flash of her dimple as she looked away, fighting a smile.

 

 _All you wanted._ His chest pinched. _She ‘as no idea what I want._

 

“What ‘bout you, sweet’eart?” He let his eyes wander over her, trying to sound casually interested as he asked, “You think I’m a good person?”

 

She didn’t hesitate. “You bet.”

 

“Is it?”

 

She shrugged. “Never a doubt in my mind.”

 

“Fooled you, ‘aven’t I?”

 

“Ha! You… such a kidder.”

 

He snorted. “Bout ‘alf of the Southeast would say you’re batshit.”

 

“Yes, but you don’t love half of the Southeast, do you?”

 

That hit him like a punch in the gut.

 

“Huh.” He took a long pull from his Weight, studying it as he flicked the ash off the tip and asked, “And you think I love you?”

 

She blinked. “Yes.”

 

Well this little conversation had gone sideways on him, hadn’t it?

 

He ignored the way his stomach dipped as he smirked, “Bloke like me, two ex-wives and a black reputation - seems a li’le unlikely, don’t it?”

 

“What does?”

 

“That I’d love a girl.”

 

She looked confused. “No. Huh-uh. Not at all.”

 

“Batshit alright,” he sneered.

 

She let out a sharp sigh. “Look, sweet cheeks-”

 

_Sweet cheeks?_

 

“Everybody loves to say, _When life hands you lemons, make lemonade!_ ” She mimicked a high, bright voice as she quoted, waving her hand in the air. “But they’ve never actually had to _make_ lemonade, have they? They don’t know how hard it is, how messy it gets-” She stopped, gravel crunching under her sandals as she turned to face him.

 

He’d told her by now about what it was like for him coming up. About his mum working, the two of them living in filth and squalor. He’d taken her there - to Peckham Estates, in Brixton. Shown her the little rows of government-issued flats, the yard where he used to get into scrapes. He’d shown her the cheap plot he had to put his mum in when he was sixteen, too, and the proper headstone he’d replaced her marker with when he got his first advance from London Metro. He’d shown her the public house he lived in after that, until he saved up enough of his checks as a PC fresh out of police college to rent a room in a flat on Firth Street.

 

She’d hummed softly at his project flat, her face pleasant and neutral, and had laughed sweetly at the stories he’d told her about being a lad and getting into trouble. And she’d brought flowers when they visited his mother’s grave, crouching down beside her headstone to whisper, “So nice to finally meet you, Maggie. I’m Susan. Your son has been very kind to me.”

 

Later, when they got back to his flat, he’d pressed his ear to the bathroom door and listened to her cry in the tub while the shower ran, his own throat tight as she sobbed her heart out for him.

 

Now, he let her take his hand in both of hers, nailed to the spot as she murmured, “You start to get cuts in your hands after a while, don’t you, squeezing all those lemons. Trying to make something out of them. And they burn.”

 

He swallowed as she kissed his split knuckles, watching his eyes from under her fringe. “Susan-”

 

“And then what’dya have?” she asked, so much tenderness in her pretty face. “Sour juice, that’s what. You’ve got all this lemon juice, Tom, and it feels like nothing to show for it. But sweetie, you have put sugar in it if you wanna make it sweet. _That’s_ how you make lemonade out of lemons. You have to put some sweetness in your life.”

 

His throat worked around the knot at the base of it. What the hell was she trying to pull?

 

“I can’t-”

 

She touched her fingers to the corner of his lips and whispered, “Yes you can, Tom. You put the color back in my world. The sky is blue again-” Her breath caught. She looked up at the sky darkening in the dusk above them. “You made the sky blue again, Tom. You.”

 

His heart was going to burn up in his chest if the ache didn’t stop. “What’s your point?”

 

She let out a startled laugh at that. “My point, detective, is that you are a good, good man, who has taken what was - if I may say - a pretty shitty life, and made so much more with it. You’re a _police officer_. You’ve dedicated your life to- to protecting people. Saving people.”

 

He shook his head as something hot swept through him, like anger - only brighter and less sharp-edged. “No. No, I ‘ad to do what I’ve done-”

 

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything. You could have sat on your butt, or dealt drugs, or moved away-” She tugged his hand. “But you _stayed_. In a place that gave you nothing but grief. And you’ve made it better.”

 

She closed the gap between them, breasts and belly pressed against him as she let go of his hand and cupped his face. “You made _me_ better, Tom.” She shrugged. “It’s just what you do.”

 

Standing there with the evening light, all soft and pretty in her sunny yellow dress, it was easy to think he had her number. That he’d pieced it all together and figured her out.

 

She’d changed the game on him, in so many ways.

 

“Love me.” He meant it to come out softer, gentler - not a harsh, grating rasp. Not an order.

 

But it had.

 

 _That’s what you do_ , he heard Molly’s mocking lilt. _You crush things, Tom._

 

“Susan-”

 

“Tahm,” she smiled and shook her head, _You’re incorrigible._ “I do love you. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I love you just the way you are.”

 

“Is it?” He felt his jaw clench in a petulant set and he hated himself for it. “Then why’d you ask me to change?”

 

“Wha-” She blinked.

 

“You said, _Can people change?_ ”

 

She let out a startled laugh, sliding her hands over his shoulders to cross her wrists behind his head. “Noo, not you. I was asking because- there’s someone who wants to see me and I- He wasn’t a good… person. That’s not- It has nothing to do with you.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Positive.” She traced the bridge of his nose with her fingertip. “I don’t want you to change. I like you.”

 

“You do, do yah?” His tone deepened, smirk taking on a solicitous edge. “So I’m not- what was it you called me this morning?”

 

She flinched. “Disgusting?”

 

“No, after that.”

 

She looked up and to the corner, thinking, then snapped her fingers behind his head. “Morally depraved!”

 

He nodded. “Yeah, that.”

 

She sucked her tongue. “Yeah, that was… No, I stand by that.”

 

“But I like it,” she added brightly.

 

“What does that make you, then?” he asked, eyes dropping to her mouth.

 

“I think it makes me your girlfriend.” She considered that, then asked, “Do you do girlfriends?”

 

“Every day,” he assured her, dipping his head. “And twice on Sundays.”

 

“Ooh, color me committed,” she smirked as she closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I have dozens of these unfinished shorties in my personal Drive, and when Dulce requested a fic from Tom's perspective in which Susan says that four-letter word, I thought, "I have just the thing."
> 
> Thanks for helping me get this baby birdie out of the nest finally, D. 
> 
> Love, Pastel


End file.
